


The moon and the stars

by Anonymous



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Hurt, M/M, Mischa mends him back together, US Open, post final
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26460763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mischa is the moon and the stars and all kinds of beautiful Sascha could never be.****Sascha comes back home after the US Open final.
Relationships: Alexander Zverev/Mischa Zverev
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Anonymous





	The moon and the stars

Mischa is there when he comes home. Because he always is. He’s sitting in Sascha’s living room when the younger brother enters his apartment in Monaco, dropping his bags at the doorstep.   
Days have passed since that night under the floodlight, those hours that he has lost his heart on the court of Arthur Ashe Stadium. It feels like a part of him is still in New York, like he has lost something of himself during that match which he will not get back.  
Mischa has heard him come in and he looks up from where he’s sitting, with a glance on his face that Sascha cannot read. That’s surprising, really, considering they know each other inside out and it makes a lump form in the younger German’s throat.   
The disappointment is always there, it hasn’t left for days, and each time that he thinks it might get better, it crashes down on him at full weight, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to _think_.  
And he would have needed Mischa there with him, the person that knows him best. He would have screamed at Mischa, would have yelled that this might have been his only chance to get a grip on one of these goddamn trophies ever, and then he would have cried his heart out until there would have been no tears left. If Mischa had been there, he would have stitched him back together.

But Mischa had been in Europe and Sascha had been all by himself and phone calls were just not the same, so he had been forced to spend the last days within his own mind and it had been a dark place, one that was eating him up.

He is sure that his brother can read all that on his face right now, while Sascha still can’t read his and it makes him mad, for some reason, because he needs Mischa to be reliable and steady and all the things he hasn’t had over the last weeks.   
The older German tilts his head without saying a word and they hold each other’s gazes for a moment, until Mischa reaches out a hand and Sascha suddenly stumbles forward.   
He almost crashes down on his brother the next second, wrapping his arms around Mischa’s neck. He kicks of his shoes and curls up in the older one’s lap, because he’s so goddamn tired of being the grown up, the adult, the runner up.   
When Mischa closes his arms around his back and pulls him against his chest, where Sascha hides his face away in the crook of his brother’s neck, he feels small in the older one’s arms, despite the fact he has outgrown his brother years ago.   
He has expected himself to cry but he doesn’t, maybe because there are simply no tears left in his body, but he feels his body shaking still, and Mischa tightens his grip on him.   
“Schhh,” Mischa makes and the vibration of his voice sends a shiver down Alexander’s back.   
“I’m so proud of you,” the older one whispers and it helps, because the only thing Sascha has ever wanted is to make Mischa proud, because Mischa is the moon and the stars and all the other things in a sky, and he is just Sascha, who has lost the biggest match of his career.   
When he feels something wet on his skin, he wonders if he has started crying after all, but quickly realizes that is not what happens. Looking up, he sees wet tracks on Mischa’s cheeks and it burns inside Alexander’s guts, because _he_ has done this, he has made his brother cry, and it shatters something inside of him. He feels his own face growing cold in shock and watches how Mischa quickly tries to wipe away the tears before he sees them. But it’s too late for that and it breaks Sascha’s heart. His chest clenches up and he brings up his hands, cupping Mischa’s jaw with both of them, to force him to look him in the eyes.   
It is hard to breathe and Sascha feels like he is going to choke any time soon, but he forces the words out anyway.   
  
“I’m so sorry, Misch.”  
He leans his forehead against his brother’s and holds onto him, because he fears he would break in two if he didn’t.   
“I really wanted to make mum and dad proud.”  
His voice is barely more than a pained whisper, “Make you proud.”   
The wetness of Mischa’s tears make his hands slippery and he wipes his thumbs over the older one’s cheekbones.   
He can see it in his brother’s eyes, just how much Mischa hates himself for letting his disappointment show in front of him, but it’s there none the less and it’s honest and it’s brutal and it is what it is.   
He's not sure when Mischa’s hand made it onto his neck, but his palm is resting against his collar bone, with the tips of the older German’s fingers brushing over the back of his neck. His finger tips are feathery light on his cervical vertebra and he can see Mischa’s eyes wandering over his face.   
“I’m not disappointed in you, Sash,” Mischa whispers, as if he has read the younger one’s thoughts. Alexander doesn’t believe him, can’t believe him, when proof is still running down the older German’s cheeks.   
  
Mischa looks at him, without saying anything, just looks and lets his eyes trail over Sascha’s face with their foreheads pressed together and suddenly Sascha’s heartbeat picks up speed, because he gets the sense that _something_ is going to happen. He can’t tell what it is that has changed and he can’t bring himself to believe it, because Mischa never wants to, because Mischa is always pushing him back. His big brother is the rational one of them and he’s always the one holding Sascha at arm’s length. He is always the one to catch Sascha’s wrist with his hands, he’s the one turning his head last second.   
But it is different now, because everything’s different now, and there is so much pain in Mischa’s eyes, so much hurt eating up his rationality.   
One second Mischa’s fingers are light as a feather and the next, they have curled around his neck to pull him in.   
The older Zverev’s lips crash against Sascha’s before the younger one has fully grasped what is happening, but Mischa is really _kissing_ him, with his lips so soft that it makes Sascha’s head spin. Mischa’s mouth is warm and it’s filthy and it shouldn’t be right and yet this is _everything_ , this is everything Sascha has ever wanted and he cannot remember a time he did not crave his brother to give in. He kisses Mischa back so fiercely that it knocks all oxygen straight out of his lungs and he needs Mischa _closer_ , because he always does, so he wraps his arms around his brother’s back and holds him as close as he can.  
Mischa is the moon and the stars and all kinds of beautiful Sascha could never be, but in the older one’s arms, with his lips against Mischa’s, Sascha feels like the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> i... had to write it.   
> I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.   
> I couldn't help myself, though.   
> Please let me know what you think.


End file.
